


A Second Chance

by sunexists



Category: DreamSMP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-14 05:22:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29787096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunexists/pseuds/sunexists
Summary: After Eret's plan to resurrect Wilbur left his ghost fragmented and distant, Phil has come up with a new plan. Phil, Technoblade, Ranboo, and Fundy meet Ghostbur as he reminisces over his dual lifetimes, the pieces of history that have led them to this fateful day. When the time comes for the plan to go underway, will things run smoothly, or will a certain pair of interlopers send things awry?
Kudos: 7





	A Second Chance

The sun shone brightly that day, the rain tucked away in lazily drifting clouds by some benevolent god— a welcome sign that this final ritual would leave the ghost unscathed. If he had it his way, the ghost would leave completely, disappearing into the after-afterlife, allowing his former self to be resurrected. A second chance.

Wilbur had not received a funeral when he died. Evidently, maddened traitors are not granted finished symphonies or sentimental eulogies. Ghostbur understood this, of course, but felt he owed some sort of tribute to his past self. Perhaps he was more human in death than he ever had been in life.

Now he was kneeling before a great willow tree on a hill that overlooked the ruins of a place he once rebuilt and called home. The wind blew softly, occasionally causing the hanging leaves and the spirit himself to sway. He was not a strong ghost, so with tremulous, blue-stained hands he carried what few memories he managed to pull from the rubble: a scrap of a hand-sewn flag, bark scavenged from the charred logs of yet another destroyed haven, an old potion bottle filled with rapidly melting snow, and pebbles from the wreckage below. Of all the things he carried, the fresh bouquet of bluebottle cornflowers held the most weight. He set down these salvaged treasures like a shrine to ruin, a telling summary of his second life.

“Hi, son! Er— hello, Ghostbur.”

At this, the ghost’s ears perked up. There was Wilbur’s father, Phil, approaching from the ruins with sacred totem in hand and found family in tow. Behind him was Technoblade, Wilbur’s older brother, who preferred to snort at the absurdity of this scene rather than to feel its weight. Next came Fundy, Wilbur’s son, leading a friendly sheep with blue wool, not to the slaughter, but salvation. Finally, there was the strange boy from the End, Ranboo, who often seemed just as fractured as the spirit himself. Seeing them all together, the ghost figured he must have done something right.

“I’ve always been one for theatrics, you know. I thought, since Eret’s shrine didn’t work, I’d create my own,” he smiled weakly, gesturing at the patchwork monument he had created.

No one managed a response as they surveyed the ghost’s creation, so he continued. “Right! Uh, I was also thinking, in that explosion down there, I lost more than just my book collection, my memories, my potions… I think I lost myself in all of that. A long time ago. And you guys… you lost Wilbur. I think I might find myself in bringing him back to you.”

Ranboo nodded, a kind of solidarity hidden in each shake of his head. Techno and Fundy stood rigid, not sure what to do with their hands. Phil’s eyes glistened as he offered a small reply: “It’s beautiful, Ghostbur. What you’ve done here, it’s really something.” He looked around, avoiding eye contact, “Are you sure you want to do this, then?”

“No, not at all, but I need to. I can’t help you rebuild L’manberg anymore. No amount of floating lanterns can brighten up this mess, Phil. You all have to build something entirely new. And you need Wilbur to do it.” Even as he said this, the ghost’s smile seemed hesitant and his head began to grow cloudy.

“Well then, let’s get this show on the road, eh?” Techno laughed, easing the tension.

“Right. This thing you’ve set up is well nice, but I think I have a better place in mind. It’s a place we always seem to forget, but maybe it can help you remember.” Phil pocketed the totem and pulled out his notepad with coordinates scrawled on the yellowing paper. “Follow me.”

The spirit turned back to face the tree, the words NEVER MEANT TO BE carved into its oak. He sighed, picking a blue cornflower from the already wilting bouquet. He extended the flower to Ranboo, who had been picking up fistfuls of grass in his absentminded anxiety. He accepted the offering sheepishly, looking away from his outstretched hand as the petals dissolved into a blue dye.

“I think I’m going to stay here. I can… I can watch Friend… while you’re gone.” Ranboo spoke softly, dropping his hand and walking over to pet the blue sheep Fundy had tethered to a low-hanging tree limb.

“I’ll stay too. I kind of… I wanna stay here.” Fundy took a step toward his father’s memorial, lost in thought.

The remaining trio— Techno, Phil, and Ghostbur— shook their heads in understanding and went on their way. Some time later, after traversing through grove after grove of trees and overgrown grass, they reached a lonely mountainside.

“Phil, I’ll be honest, I think my shrine was a bit better than this hunk of stone.” Ghostbur chuckled but trailed off when he seemed to be the only one laughing. Techno began to mine at the earth, exposing a passageway, and led the group down into the depths of what the ghost thought must be a secret.

Rounding the final corner of a spiral staircase, Phil sighed, “Ghostbur, this is Pogtopia.” The group did not receive the silent welcome of a lost, abandoned refuge they were expecting. Instead—

“Hey guys, so sorry to intrude! What’s happening here? Care to fill me in for once? Maybe fucking explain why you’re trying to revive a villain, killing the one person who stayed with me in exile?” There stood Tommy, the hapless, resentful child Ghostbur once called his best friend. In life, Wilbur had called him his little brother. Now that the ghost thought about it, it had been a while since they last spoke. When Logstedshire fell to ruin, he lost contact with any semblance of home, but he supposed he did miss Tommy and was glad to see him here. Tommy, on the other hand, did not seem happy at all.

At his side stood a young woman dressed in a vibrant striped sweater, the sleeves of which were torn and blackened, as if singed by fire. She stood like a challenge, shoulders back and chin up.

“Tommy, this doesn’t concern you. You don’t get to play the good guy here. Not again.” Techno stepped forward in opposition, but before he could go further, Phil placed a cautionary hand on his shoulder. Phil’s face betrayed no emotion as his gaze passed over the interlopers, the sacred totem in his hand, the cavern’s damp walls, his sons.  
“Who are you?” Ghostbur squinted, willing his mind to remember her.

“What? Ghostbur… it’s Niki.” Tommy replied incredulously, but the ghost’s expression remained quizzical. “Phil! What did you do to him?! He’s supposed to remember the good things! Was she not a good thing? Why doesn’t he fucking remember her?!”

Phil started to speak, to explain the delicate complexity of the situation, but was cut off. Though she stood strong, feet rooted to the stone below, Niki’s voice wavered as she spoke the one-word query that burned like coal on her tongue: “Wil?”

“Ah! Well… no. Er, yes. Sort of. Almost,” the ghost fumbled over his words, “It’s a bit of a mess in here.” He snapped his fingers and pointed at his head, which wore a tattered, red knit cap and a conciliatory grin. In the dim lighting, he could just barely see Niki’s eyes begin to sparkle with tears.

“But… but you left us… left me. You left! How are you here?! What is happening? Tommy, why did you bring me here? Wh— Who is this?” She lunged forward as if to cling to the spirit’s arms, but her hand slipped through him and she pulled back in fright, cradling her now blue-sullied hands to her chest.

“Niki, this is Wilbur’s ghost. He is dead. I need you to help me convince these people, my dear family, that he should stay dead.” As Niki’s eyes widened in fright, Tommy’s narrowed with the threat of a plan. He turned to face his captive audience, those he once called family, with a broken smile.

“Wilbur, Ghostbur, whoever this is… you were never meant to be.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is my first ever bit of writing based on the dreamSMP, so any constructive criticism would be appreciated! Thanks so much for taking the time to read! I hope you have a good day! :)  
> \- Sun


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